


here, beneath my lungs

by turtleducklings



Category: Final Fantasy XIII Series, Final Fantasy XIII-2
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 10:30:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtleducklings/pseuds/turtleducklings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His smile's the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	here, beneath my lungs

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to [rachael](http://zeldalise.tumblr.com).

His hands are different.

Bigger now, mostly, she thinks. They'd seemed so small and breakable when he'd clenched them, shaking, over the back of her uniform jacket, his uneven breath warm between her shoulder blades even through the thick canvas. Trembling even as he put on a brave face,  _I think we can take 'em, Light—_

So much of him used to be fragile. For a long time she'd just thought he was weak, when really...

"You were so young, then," she says. Hope's laugh is breathy, more of a snort than a laugh, really, a rush of air through his nose.

"Yes," he agrees, "I was."

The Hope Estheim she remembers, the one she'd watched over as a l'Cie, was a small, naïve boy. Tougher than he looked; smarter, too. But, somehow, there had always been something about him screaming to be protected. And Lightning had responded well.

This Hope Estheim is different.

Taller, smarter, stronger, older. Older than  _her_ , she realizes with a start, and isn't that strange.

She sighs, turning her head to the side. "I'm a fool," she mutters, mostly to herself. A fool to think he'd be the same after all this time, a fool to think for a second that she could even still protect him—

But now Hope's laughing, for real this time, deep in his chest. One hand flies up to his mouth as he throws his head back, and for some stupid reason Lightning's breath hitches in the back of her throat.

His laughter dies slowly, fades like a candle at the end of its wick, "You've got that right," he says, eyes bright. She makes a noncomittal noise and then doesn't look at Hope because he looks as though he's trying not to laugh at her again and it's extremely annoying.

Suddenly he holds out his hand for her to shake; she glances down and stares at it silently for a moment before taking it. (And resolutely ignores how his fingers practially engulf her own.)

"Welcome home, Light."

Of course. She rolls her eyes but, despite herself, her mouth quirks up at the corner as her annoyance dissipates and bleeds out of her. She squeezes his hand in hers, shifting and sliding her palm so her fingers can knit tightly between his own. He blushes, then his grin is there, beaming in full force. She half-returns it, mouth turning up at both corners now, and her heart is squeezing almost painfully in her chest:

His smile is the same.

"Good to be back," she says.


End file.
